Ivan Orkin is a ramen master. It doesn’t matter if he’s a Jewish white man from Long Island; he’s traveled the globe to put in the hours, dial in his focus, and devote his life to close study. But at his Lower East Side flagship, Ivan Ramen, the culmination of all that scholarship isn’t some lofty exegesis. No, his treatise comes in a bowl, and you’re supposed to slurp it.
The room nods to a ramen shop without leaning into cosplay. The concept is simple: run a ramen-ya through an NYC filter. And the space delivers: modern, clean, well-lit and open; whitewashed with pops of color from wall art, including a notably impressive backyard tile mosaic. Staff are attentive if not enthusiastic, quick with explanations and suggestions. The vibe is casual, more fun than romantic.
The draft list keeps faith with Japan while the fridge leans American craft—a smart two-lane highway that’ll please most, from beer-weebs to cicerone-jabronis. If you’re in the market, the sake and soju lineup is compact but well-realized with a few quiet show-offs to please connoisseurs. And the wine list is tidy, thought through with enough options to pair with each broth.
The standard tonkotsu ramen hits the right notes: tender chashu; a perfectly jammy egg; crunchy kikurage; bright scallion; black garlic for a smoky/earthy note; pickled mustard greens for an acid pop. Ivan’s signature rye noodles arrive perfectly cooked—pleasantly chewy and great at grabbing the soup without turning gummy. Each component is good, though the broth, while rich and tasty, was too salty. It’s good as a sauce, but I can’t see draining the bowl. The veggie spicy miso (miso + chili + mushroom + veg broth) comes on a lot stronger. Vegetables bring fresh contrast to the fiery broth, with a slice of roasted tomato acting as a clever stand-in for chashu—rusty, chewy, delicious. The heat is assertive to say the least, but like the tonkotsu, you’re liable to blow out your palate if you chase the last sip. On the menu’s edges, small plates and appetizers are all good: mild, crunchy pickles; crisp karaage fried chicken with tasty sauces; and the NYC pastrami buns—a wink at the classic that subs a single slab of fatty braised pork belly and sauce for a stack of smoky, salty, cured pastrami with kraut and Kewpie “Russian” dressing. This feels like the menu’s clearest nod to Ivan’s “gaijin” background and a smart place to do it. It’s tasty and fun but ask me if I prefer it to the original.
Ivan Ramen delivers on its premise—deliberate, focused, the product of obvious respect, and most importantly, a satisfying meal. There’s no appropriation or play-acting here; it’s no more “Americanized” than what you’ll find at Ippudo or Momofuku. It’s an enthusiastic tribute to the all-but-life-sustaining bowl; a steamy love letter, a well-researched, slurpable dissertation that holds up to a defense, even if some aspects could stand editing.